Christmas and the Martyrs

Things have been dull. Many agents have left to be with their families. Hopefully, they'll be back soon.

Jorma's visited me a few times. We've taken to playing chess. I'm not good at it, though occasionally Judas takes over and plays in my stead.

He never loses.

So it's basically just been me, a handful of agents, Jorma, and the occasional inexplicable sound or item seemingly moving by itself. Before she left for the Holidays, Stone said she suspects the old apartment has a Poltergeist. Those are apparently things. Who knew?

Anyway, where was I with my story last time I posted? The alliance with Ophilim, right?

Well....


I'll spare you the details on our planning and such, but a few days later we were all in the woods outside of town. We'd located the remains of campsite that Neomaria had likely used, and were hot on her trail. Ghost seemed the most driven, of course. I'd grown to like the guy. There was a sincerity to him that you wouldn't expect from a member of secret cult. He really cared about the girl, and only wanted her well-being. He argued with both Stone and Ophilim about it quite a bit.

I'd been kind of banned from moving within a few yards of Ophilim. There'd been an incident earlier when Judas had tried to jump bodies. The Archangel's lapdog is a fast one.

I'm... not really sure what the hell happened next. But suddenly, there was the sound of gunfire, I was covered in blood, two agents were dead (one at my feet), and Jorma and Ophilim had pinned down someone in body armor, who struggling, vainly, to escape their grasp.

We all ran over to him. "It's a Martyr," Ghost said. "Tried to get the drop on us."

"And he succeeded," Ophilim said. "I have shamed my Lord Archangel by allowing such a thing."

Stone rolled her eyes, and I tried to ignore the hysterical laughter echoing through my brain.

"Inquisitor Nu," the Martyr said, oddly calmly for someone trying to break free from two superhuman Fear-Servants. "I am Martyr Nu. Isn't that neat?"

"Name's Ghost."

"You cannot escape what you are," Martyr Nu said. "Our destinies are woven with unbreakable strings."

And then he shot up. Like, straight up. His whole body. Ophilim and Jorma were knocked back onto the ground. Martyr Nu hovered there a moment, limp, as if he were being held by something invisible. Then his body turned upright, and his fell alighted to the ground. "For the Alpha," he said, still with that tone of eerie calm. He drew a knife and rushed at Ghost, in a blur I could barely see.

One more gunshot, and Martyr Nu was spread on the ground with blood gushing from the hole in the side of his head.

As one, we all turned to see where the shot had come from.

It was like the world itself had been painted on a brick wall, and a part of that wall had crumbled away, revealing a long, torchlit tunnel. A woman stood there, with dirty blond hair drawn back in a ponytail, he skin pale, her clothing black. She held a rifle in her hands, and a pair of gray eyes regarded us all from behind her glasses.

And then, Scribe Sigma spoke:

"Where is my sister?"